The Amok Runners

by Colin Cotterill

  The only downside was that Andrew Axeman insisted on wearing his lucky buffalo-hide top coat. For a military campaign in the tropics one would have to question the frontiersman’s sanity.

  ‘This here coat was made by my ma for my pa (The young Lord Axeman had evidently dumbed down substantially since leaving Suffolk) and it was passed on to me. This coat’s killed a whole messa injuns.’

  Although the wardrobe people had done a splendid job of making cotton look like hide, the jacket was long-sleeved and high-necked and stifling in the humidity of Fang. Arny spent most of his walkthroughs bare-chested.

  He was a stand-in, and nobody bothers to tell the stand-in anything. That’s why he was shocked to see Bunny Savage appear on the set that afternoon. Perhaps Shan princesses really did dress like go-go dancers in the sixteenth century. They had researchers to ascertain such things. Perhaps Siamese kings did allow their concubines to walk around the palace with their bosoms hanging out and their g-stringed backsides visible beneath a sheer mesh miniskirt.

  It would probably help here to recap my brother Arny’s attitude towards sex. He wasn’t having any of it. He was such a dreamboat he could have had his choice. He was the strong silent type and women of all ages found that endearing about him. But he refused point blank to bed anyone until he was in love and engaged to be married. We had no idea where that attitude came from, especially not from our mother who produced us out of wedlock and was seen on the arm of a battalion of gentlemen friends. Arny was painfully shy and soft spoken and, I’m loath to say, a bit of a wimp. We doubted he’d ever be able to woo a girl without backup. So it was lucky the scene that afternoon involved a group of villagers which included Sissy as a rugged carpenter. When the actress walked down the palace steps several hundred hearts, including those of two transvestite makeup artistes, came to a standstill. She was a poacher of breath, a purloiner of rational thought. Even Sissy caught himself staring at her with his tongue unfurled. What a sight. Eyes like pools of chocolate inviting every man to take the plunge. The borderline Botox/mother-nature lips. The wind-tunnel tested bone structure. The legs, the chest, the shoulders; more desirous than any woman had the right to be. It was all Sissy could do not to say, ‘Wow, if only I had all that.’ The only disconcerting aspect about her physical appearance was the bloody shaft of an arrow protruding from her kidney. It didn’t seem to slow her down at all. She waved at OB and went to Arny with her hand held in front of her.

  ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I’m Bunny Savage.’

  Her smile seemed to dribble hot mercury down the inside of his stomach. He took hold of her fingertips and squeezed them – more of a nail inspection than a handshake. His mouth was still open but nothing came out. Arny was struck dumb.

  ‘You do speak English?’ she asked.

  ‘Little bit,’ he managed.

  ‘Then you’re supposed to say, ‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Jim’.’

  ‘No,’ said Arny.

  ‘No what?’

  ‘Jimm’s my sister.’

  Her smile grew larger, more real somehow – more intimidating.

  ‘Then how about you substitute it for some other name? Like yours for example.’

  ‘Arny,’ said Arny.

  That actually made her laugh.

  ‘No connection to Schwarzenegger?’

  ‘He’s my hero.’

  ‘Don’t.’

  ‘Honestly.’

  Sissy could see his brother was struggling so he went to help.

  ‘His real name’s Arnon,’ said Sissy.

  ‘And who are you?’ she asked.

  ‘Sissy. I’m his brother.’

  ‘And your name’s Sissy?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘You know that has another meaning in my country?’

  ‘You don’t say.’

  Sissy was about to add the fact that he was generally a woman but time constraints were against him. Quirk, the assistant director jogged up to them. He had two speeds, scurry and freeze. He was an out-of-shape Australian plucked from the spare director pool at the last minute when the original choice found God and vanished onto a retreat. Quirk filled the on-set asshole role and left no doubt as to why he was available at such short notice. He stood in front of Arny and Bunny but spoke with OB over his headset.

  ‘You both know what’s expected of you,’ Quirk said. ‘So I want you …’

  ‘No,’ Arny shook his head.

  ‘No, what?’ said Quirk.

  ‘No, I don’t know what I’m doing.’

  Quirk glared, angrily. ‘Then I suggest you read the day’s shooting schedule, mate.’

  ‘Nobody’s given me a shooting schedule,’ said Arny.

  He was very calm and non-accusing but he obviously rubbed the assistant director up the wrong way.

  ‘Well, Mr. would-be Dan Jensen, you aren’t gonna be a big star if you don’t learn to read a schedule.’

  He noticed Sissy as if for the first time.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Looking manly and rugged,’ said Sissy.

  ‘Well go and do it over there with the hired help,’ said Quirk.

  ‘I don’t,’ said Arny.

  ‘Don’t what?’ said Quirk.

  ‘I don’t want to be Dan Jensen.’

  Bunny laughed. ‘Okay gentlemen, break it up. John, I think I can explain the scene to Mr. Arny here.’

  Quirk squeezed his earlobe and got his fingers caught in his earphone.

  ‘Ms. Savage,’ he said, ‘when you’ve been in the business as many years as me, you’ll find there’s just some people you can’t teach.’

  He ran off to organize the extras.

  ‘He’s a dick head,’ said Bunny. She had a way of making it sound erotic.

  ‘Can’t blame him,’ Sissy smiled. His smile was probably the only part of my brother that hadn’t aged with time. He was a good looking man but too wrinkly and broad-jawed to be called glamorous as a woman any more.

  ‘The production company’s under a lot of pressure from the IDF to hire people like that,’ he said.

  ‘International …?’

  ‘… Dickhead Federation.’

  Her laugh was bubbly.

  ‘I see you’re doing everything you can to hang onto this job,’ she said. ‘Any more of you at home?’

  ‘One sister,’ said Sissy.

  ‘And what’s her name?’

  ‘Jimm.’

  ‘Of course. I should have known.’

  Sissy smiled and imagined himself and this new girl friend smoking joints and exchanging make-up tips on the deck.

  ‘So,’ she said. ‘We’re all bonded now. Arny, here’s the deal. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’ve got a bloody arrow sticking out of my gut.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Arny.

  ‘So, anyway. I’m dying. You get to carry me into the …’

  ‘Carry you?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘How much do you weigh?’

  ‘Not much. It’s not important. Just bend your knees.’

  It was important in a way. Arny had the scar of a herniated disc operation from two months earlier as testament to how relevant it might be. All those years of lifting metal bars had taken its toll on his back. But, hell. Bunny Savage in his arms? Wasn’t that worth a lifetime in a wheelchair?

  ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I’ll do it.’

  ‘Nice of you.’

  In fact it took eight takes; change of camera angle, the damn sun making an appearance and screwing up the lighting, and Arny staggering into an urn. It was almost as if …

  ‘Hey, mate. Are you deliberately trying to fuck this up?’ Quirk shouted. He was passing the question on from OB who sat atop a tower of scaffold. Arny was sweating like a land eel and it was just as well they were only filming him from the back because he couldn’t get that pained smile off his lips. Here he was walking around the sixteenth century with a beautiful woman in his arms. His back ached like a curse from Hell
but Sissy had to admire the fact our little brother was going to make this scene last as long as he damn-well could.

  They talked a lot between takes. Sissy breaking protocol each time and deserting his fellow tradesmen to chat with the star. Bunny wanted to know about Thailand and the effects of the October coup. They were surprised in a pleasant kind of way, not only that she’d be interested but that she might even be aware there’d been one. Sissy wished there were standing-in-front-of-tank anecdotes to tell but it had been a calm overnight takeover. The Prime Minister had been in the States and the military strolled into parliament and announced they were in charge. There were no shots fired and the overall opinion in Chiang Mai seemed to be that the general couldn’t do any worse than the previous guy. Bunny Savage took it all in but left Sissy with the impression she’d be asking others to get a balanced view.

  My brothers were equally surprised when they tried to tell her about the Shan of whom she was a surrogate representative in the movie. She began a recitation she’d memorized.

  ‘The Shan,’ she said. ‘Inhabitants of Shan State in northern Burma since before the thirteenth century, probably migrants from China. Often the historical whipping boys for the big bully kingdoms around them. At one time a part of the Chiang Mai Lanna realm. More recently, brutalized and displaced by the oppressive Burmese junta. Their culture presently in danger from a series of dams being built along the Salween River.’

  My brothers stared into her chocolate eyes.

  ‘Gee, you do your homework,’ said Arny.

  ‘I know a lot more,’ she said. ‘I’ve been passing it on in press interviews but I doubt they’ll print it. Not sexy enough. I have a secretary who finds these things out for me.’

  ‘Did she do the research on fifteenth century Shan costumes, too?’ Sissy asked.

  Bunny smiled.

  ‘No. I’m guessing that was the decision of some dirty old man in marketing. I fought against it.’

  ‘Can’t say too many of the boys here are sorry you lost.’

  Finally, feeling marginally bad about all the dollars he’d helped waste, Arny gritted his teeth and strode manfully to the deathbed with his Shan princess in his arms. He had one final squeeze, lay her on the Thai silk sheets and the ominous sound of ‘cut, that’s a wrap’ broke the silence behind him. It was all over. Sissy came over to pat his brother on the back. He looked down at the unconscious princess, blood oozing erotically from a plastic pouch in her breastplate.

  ‘Should I get you a doctor?’ he asked.

  ‘I pull through,’ said Bunny. ‘I’ve read the script.’

  ‘That’s a relief. We had a good time today.’

  ‘Yes we did,’ said Arny.

  ‘There’s obviously not much going on in your lives,’ she smiled.

  Despite all Sissy’s instincts and proclivities to dislike ‘a woman like her’, she’d crawled in under his ‘poser’ radar. Yes, they could be girlfriends.

  ‘We have a family cabin down at the Garden Home,’ he told her. ‘It’s a bunch of bungalows covered in weeds. We sit on the balcony and talk shit most nights. If you miss the chopper and feel like a cup of tea …’

  ‘Thanks.’

  He got it in a fraction of a second before the sycophants came flooding over her. He and Arny were the losing boxer in the ring, nudged out and pushed onto the ropes. They caught a glimpse of her amid the scrum and then she was gone. They might spot her on a cliff overlooking the battle or get to cheer Axeman as he sweeps her into his arms, but their personal moment had passed.

  Chapter 8

  “No-one ever leaves a star. That's what makes one a star.”

  Sunset Boulevard (1950)

  When I arrived back from the beheading at the central market I found Arny flat on his back on the cabin deck, still wearing his frontiersman jacket open to the navel. He was reading a romance novel held at arm’s length in front of his face. There was a hot-water thermos and a teapot on the side table. I sat beside him on the ground.

  ‘Rough day, dear?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ said Arny. ‘How was yours?’

  ‘I don’t know how they ever get a movie made,’ I said. ‘I swear I don’t. It took them six hours just to cut a guy’s head off.’

  ‘What did they use, nail clippers?’

  That was a rare Arny joke that I chose to ignore so I could give full sail to my whinging.

  ‘A sword,’ I said. ‘Big motherfriggin Sinbad the Sailor sword. You think it’d be easy. Woosh! Clunk! All over. But, oh no; they drag the guy in, set it all up, do the lines, we all freeze in position, they bring on the fake guy, put him in the right spot and cut his phony head off. How hard can it be? Then the sound guy tells us there was a frigging airplane going over. Start again. Drag the guy in …’

  ‘I get it.’

  ‘And that was only with a hundred of us. Can you imagine what it’ll be like tomorrow with all two thousand? Chaos. Just chaos.’

  You could tell from all the almost ‘f’ words that I was frustrated and needed calming down.

  ‘Cup of tea?’ Arny asked.

  ‘Lipton?’

  ‘Cat’s whiskers herbal grass.’

  ‘Sounds like shit.’

  ‘It’s local. They gave it to me in the restaurant. It’s good for kidney stones.’

  ‘What if I don’t want kidney stones?’

  ‘You’re a funny girl. Too bad this movie’s not a comedy.’

  He eased himself onto his side and poured two glasses of cat’s whiskers.

  ‘You get fired yet?’ I asked.

  ‘No, I made it through the first day. Our hero didn’t show up till early evening. I had the floor till then. I’d heard he was having a breakfast dispute but it turned out he was waiting for his A/C Sensuround, GPS-equipped trailer to arrive from Bangkok.’

  ‘Must be tough out here in the tropics for a pansy,’ I said. ‘You seen Bunny Savage yet?’

  He blushed hibiscus red.

  ‘Better than that, Jimm,’ he said.

  ‘What’s better than …? You talked to her?’

  ‘I held her in my arms for an hour.’

  ‘Yeah, then you woke up.’

  ‘I’m serious.’

  ‘You eaten yet?’

  ‘Jimm, I’m serious.’

  ‘Me too,’ I said. ‘Is the kitchen still open? I’ve had nothing but a plate of papier mache pork and rice since breakfast. Why are you on the floor, anyway? Don’t tell me. From carrying Bunny Savage off into the sunset, right?’

  ‘It was late afternoon but, yeah.’

  ‘Want me to get you something to eat?’

  ‘I stopped off for muscle relaxants and pain killers on my way back. I got something to eat then. I should be okay in the morning. Thanks for asking.’

  ‘Guys in your fragile condition shouldn’t go carrying that big imagination around.’

  He looked offended.

  Sissy arrived wheeling a for-hire bicycle. He parked it against the railing.

  ‘Did you get a chance to call Bangkok?’ I asked.

  ‘Yup. Made a couple of calls from the pharmacy. I got through to director Boon’s production company. They’re all still in shock about his death. I talked to his personal assistant. Asked about Khin.’

  ‘Her study grant?’

  ‘It’s frozen. They said they had no notification from Boon telling them to issue a cheque. There were three directors heading the company. The other two have promised to honour any contracts or commitments made by Boon but they had nothing on paper about our Burmese. They said there’s nothing they can do.’

  ‘Good of ‘em.’

  ‘She’ll have to make do with the advance he gave her before he died.’

  ‘She’s survived on less,’ I said.

  ‘I got chatting to the secretary,’ said Sissy as he chained the bike to a tree. ‘I asked if she could think of anybody who’d want to kill her boss. She seems to think everyone was really fond of him. He wasn’t t
he type to get into shady business deals. He put all his effort into making movies and left the administration decisions to the senior partner.’

  ‘Dead end!’

  ‘Maybe not. I asked her about Boon’s next project. Get this. He was due to work here for the duration of Siam in a sort of technical advisor role. Then he’d be staying on in Fang with his crew to make a local historical drama right out there on the Siam set.’

  ‘So,’ I said, ‘Boon makes a deal with the Americans to use their sets, maybe hang on to some of the extras. He saves a heap of money and the Americans don’t have to worry about pulling down the wall and the palace.’

  ‘That’s how I see it.’

  ‘Everyone’s happy. So, why kill him?’

  ‘That’s where we find ourselves, my sister. The why.’

  He walked up onto the balcony and flopped onto a recliner. Arny dragged himself into a position where he could prop his head up on the wooden balustrade.

  ‘I got the number of Star Casting and Locations from Lizzie, OB’s gofer,’ said Sissy. ‘Now, you’d think, given that they’re coordinating for a big budget Hollywood movie, Star Casting would want to keep their finger on the pulse and make sure nothing got screwed up. You’d think they’d have a publicist there just to handle enquiries about the movie. You’d think if someone from the New York Times called them and started asking questions, they’d be only too pleased to boast about their service.’

  ‘You told them you were New York Times?’

  ‘I may have intimated, yeah. But you know what they did? They said all the details for the Siam project were being handled by some outsourcing company in the north. The people in Bangkok couldn’t tell me a damn thing.’

  I was shocked.

  ‘They outsource for one of the biggest productions of the year?’ I said.

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘They give you a number for the other company?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘Fang?’

  ‘Can’t tell. They said it was in Chiang Mai, but don’t go looking for a multi-story office building downtown. It’s a cell phone number.’